Paulina giggled.
Rosamunda did not recall a time she had ever heard her sister giggle. It brought joy to her heart as the warmth of Adam’s hand seeped into the small of her back.
The liveried squire assigned to them at the gate led the way to the northern bailey. Rosamunda’s mouth fell open. As they descended the terraced steps, she gazed at the colorful round pavilions crowding together in a large circle around the perimeter. At the far end of the ward, one large pavilion stood alone, its white walls emblazoned with an elaborate device she supposed was the king’s. His pennant fluttered from the peak of the roof above an onion-shaped finial. The decoratively fringed roof was square, but the base was octagonal. A large canopy shaded the entry. At intervals along the walls of the tent, three thin ropes emerged like tridents to form one, which was then staked to the ground. Men with mallets patrolled, occasionally stooping to pound a stake into the earth.
The king may be within at this very moment.
The attic at Kingston Gorse suddenly seemed a long time ago and a long way away. Another lifetime.
The centre of the ward had been left open, she assumed for festivities. Around the perimeter, trestle tables sagged with the weight of foodstuffs. People milled around, eating, conversing, laughing, watching. Strolling musicians played. Braziers glowed at intervals, chasing away the autumn chill. Groups of chattering ladies huddled around them.
It was an enchanted land. She gazed about, taking it all in.
Adam’s agitated voice broke into her reverie. “Let’s keep moving.”
She became aware that the music had stopped. All eyes followed them as they made their way to their assigned pavilions.
“Hold your head high, Paulina,” Denis reminded her. “Remember what I said.”
Rosamunda breathed a sigh of relief when Paulina did exactly as instructed. She was further relieved she and her sister had been billeted next to Adam and Denis.
Adam ushered them into their own small pavilion. “I made a special request, directly to the king. Most of the unmarried knights will stay together, and the unmarried ladies are probably in those tents over there. I explained our betrothals, and, I am proud to say, the Montbryce name carries weight. Henry expects us later when we petition for his permission.”
Her heart lurched. “Permission?”
He kissed the top of her head. “To wed. It’s a formality. He’s delighted.”
* * *
Vincent and Lucien Lallement dreaded the audience with King Henry, possibly more than their tiny sister. The monarch had been informed of the goings on at Kingston Gorse and had apparently expressed angry disbelief.
When told of the betrothals of both their sisters, Lucien had dropped to his knees in prayerful thanks. Vincent had quickly joined him and the brothers had shared a tearful embrace.
Now they faced the censure of their king for the incarceration of their sisters.
Lucien paced as they waited outside the royal pavilion, then stopped abruptly in front of his future brothers-by-marriage. “Thank God we do not have to face him alone.”
Denis glared. “You are agitating your sisters with your pacing.”
Paulina swayed on her feet.
Rosamunda’s eyes were wide with apprehension.
Lucien was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been summoned to answer to a king before.”
Vincent scowled. “You’re making me nervous, brother.”
Rosamunda took Lucien’s hands in hers. Paulina joined them. “We do not blame you. You were powerless in the face of mother’s madness. Father was more to blame than you, but he has paid for his sins.”
* * *
Adam inhaled deeply as he was ushered into the pavilion of Henry, King of England. He had some inkling now of how his father and mother had felt many years before at the trial of oncle Hugh and tante Devona before the curia regis. Henry’s father, William the Conqueror had presided. His mother’s testimony had been vital in securing the release of Hugh and Devona.
They were obliged to wait their turn behind several courtiers and local noblemen. Adam fiddled with the sleeve of his doublet, worried not only by how Henry would react to his deafness, but nervous too for the Lallements.
Rosamunda leaned into him, a comical grimace on her face.
Adam bit his lip to stifle a smile. His betrothed’s impersonation was not far off the mark. Henry looked down his long nose at the latest petitioner, his coronet slightly askew on his long brown hair. He appeared chilled, though the heat from a nearby brazier had reddened his cheeks.
To Adam’s dismay, the petitioners ahead of them included the Revandel family. He nudged Rosamunda, angling his head in the king’s direction.
She grimaced again, snuggling closer. Contented warmth spread through him. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Pay them no heed. Keep your eyes on Henry. He can be as ruthless as his father. When his brother, King William Rufus, died in mysterious circumstances two months ago, Henry moved quickly to secure the throne. Everyone had expected the older brother, Duke Robert Curthose to become king.
“No one ever understood why William chose to grant the crown of England to his second son, William Rufus, the Duchy of Normandie to Robert Curthose, and five thousand pounds to the third son, Henry, whom everyone assumed would become a bishop.
“Henry spent his youth preparing for a role in the church, as youngest sons do. But his ascension to the throne of England has plunged this country and Normandie into further conflict between the two brothers for control of a combined kingdom.”
Adam glanced over at Denis. He had apparently heard nothing of his murmurings and appeared calm. But his jaw was clenched and he had a firm grasp on Paulina’s hand. His unruly hair had been tamed into a queue, his face shaved. Adam prayed under his breath the monarch would not look upon him with contempt, but as the brave and loyal knight he was.
All Shapes And Sizes
Out of the corner of his eye, Henry Beauclerc espied the motley group waiting in line for an audience.
He shifted his weight. This should prove interesting. Audiences were tedious affairs, consisting often of toadying petitioners whining about something or other. Over the years, he had heard of the exploits of the Giant and the Dwarf and the Montbryce family had proven its loyalty time and again since the early days of the conquest.
Henry had admired the way Ram de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere, had maneuvered to survive and prosper during the thirteen years his late brother had ruled as king.
The dark-haired knight waiting with the dwarf had a look of Ram’s son. Henry’s minions had informed him of the young man’s unfortunate deafness. His older brother would continue the fight to take the Crown of England away from him and he would need every able-bodied loyal knight. One thing was for certain, the Montbryces were loyal, deaf or not, and one had only to look at the dwarf half-brother to know valor came in all shapes and sizes.
Henry shrugged deeper into the blue woollen cloak he had donned against the chill. Two or three servants rushed to aid him. They evidently considered him incapable of pulling on a cloak. He waved them away impatiently. “Find out where the infernal draught on the back of my neck is coming from, and get rid of the smoke before we choke.”
Irritated and anxious to get to petitioners more interesting than the sniveling Revandel and his brats, he dismissed the family abruptly. Thank goodness Rufus’ minion had acquiesced to the strong suggestion he retire to the country with his harlot daughter and immature sons. Henry had not been aware the Revandels had ended up at Poling. Too close to Arundel for comfort. And now the upstart wanted his wayward daughter named as lady-in-waiting to his future queen. Matilda would have his head if he bestowed such an honor on the whore.
* * *
Letyce kept the decorous smile on her face until she turned away from the hypocritical king looking down his aquiline nose at her and her family.
Her ill-humor intensified when she caught sight of Adam de Montbryce and his imbecili
c neighbor standing with the next group. And a dwarf. No—two dwarfs.
She jutted out her chin, passing them with her nose in the air, a smirk on her face. She glared at Winrod and Dareau when they paused to speak to the mute. They quickly fell in line behind their pompous father.
It occurred to her as she swept out of the pavilion that there had been two other young knights with Montbryce. She should have paid them more attention.
* * *
The king leaned forward to whisper to his chamberlain. His blue cloak fell open, revealing a jewel-encrusted metal collar resting on the royal shoulders—gold no doubt. The official struck the wooden dais with a staff topped with a silver sphere, drew back his shoulders, and declared, “His Majesty wishes to speak to Vincent and Lucien Lallement.”
Denis vacillated between exasperation and relief as the Lallement brothers stepped forward, amid the disgruntled murmurings of people ahead of them. He wanted this interview over with. Never one to shy away from a challenge, he preferred to remain in the background, not be on show as they were now in this circus.
Richly dressed courtiers clustered around the edges of the royal pavilion, obviously anticipating entertainment.
Vincent and Lucien bowed low until given leave to rise. Henry eyed them sternly. “Your grandfather came to these shores even before my father. Now I am told his name has been sullied by recent events at Kingston Gorse. Explain.”
Denis itched to step forward, but changed his mind at a wary glance from his brother. He had advised Vincent and Lucien to be forthright. Their parents’ transgressions were not their fault.
Vincent braced his legs. “Our parents are dead, killed in a fire at our home. We believe our mother may have started the blaze.”
Denis had a new respect for Vincent’s courage.
Rosamunda gasped and swayed against Adam.
Paulina tightened her grip on Denis’ hand.
A collective murmur of surprise soughed through the assembly.
The glowering monarch said nothing.
Lucien cleared his throat. “Our mother has been unwell for many years.”
A few in the crowd snorted quietly. Evidently, they knew Maudine Lallement.
Lucien stiffened his shoulders. “The birth of two daughters with—difficulties, stole her wits.”
Henry pointed a royal finger at Rosamunda and Paulina. “These are the women you speak of? Your sisters?”
Paulina’s shudder shook Denis. He gripped her hand. “Courage, ma petite.”
“Adam de Montbryce and Denis de Sancerre, escort the Lallement sisters forward.”
A spark of relief flickered to life in Denis’ breast. The king respected that the women would need the support of their men. He put Paulina’s trembling hand atop his arm, smiled and led her forward.
Adam followed suit with Rosamunda.
Henry studied them intently. He smoothed his thumb and forefinger over his mustache. “Adam de Montbryce. We welcome you and acknowledge your lineage and the support your family has given mine. I trust your accommodations are in accordance with your wishes?”
Adam bowed his head. “They are beyond my expectations. I thank Your Majesty.”
Denis was thankful the king had spoken clearly and Adam had understood, then he felt the weight of the king’s gaze. Sweat beaded on his brow.
“Denis de Sancerre, your prowess as a warrior is well known, your loyalty to my person appreciated. You have proven that stature has naught to do with bravery and honor.”
He glanced around the pavilion. “There are some here at Arundel who might learn much from you.”
One or two in the crowd murmured their agreement, others looked away, scowling.
Denis’ heart raced. Praise and honor from a king—a valiant knight could wish for no more.
Henry turned his attention to Rosamunda and Paulina. “We are aware of the difficulties imposed upon you by your parents, and we express our sorrow. We understand you now wish to marry?”
Both women nodded.
Henry chuckled. “You have chosen two fine knights to wed—and bed!”
A ripple of bawdy laughter shimmered through the pavilion.
Paulina blushed, smiling at Denis.
Rosamunda and Adam stared straight ahead.
Denis’ heart lurched for his brother.
Henry held up a hand and the laughter ceased. “We give royal assent for both marriages. However, I suspect you will wish to marry in Normandie. As the duke, my brother will expect you to seek his permission.”
It was not until the six were safely away from the royal pavilion that Denis and Adam swore at once, “Merde!”
Le Manio
Malraux de Carnac held his palms to the brazier, welcoming its warmth. The English damp chilled his Breton bones. He rubbed his hands together then transferred the heat to his biceps.
Not of a rank to be granted entry into the royal pavilion, he had taken up a position in sight of the comings and goings of the petitioners where he might still enjoy the brazier. There was invariably some advantage to keeping an eye on people who wanted something badly enough to petition a king for it.
He rather relished the demonic look he imagined the glow of the brazier’s embers gave his thin face. After all, everyone was here to celebrate Hallowmas.
He rolled his eyes, yawning away his boredom. Normans were too conservative, too much in love with form and order. The much-vaunted upcoming celebrations for All Hallows’ Eve, the first day of the Triduum, paled in comparison with those planned for Carnac. Bretons knew how to organize truly spine-chilling festivities. No matter. It was not his intention to remain at Arundel for Hallowmas.
While he waited for the unusual group with the dwarfs to emerge, he ran over the details of his departure in his mind. Ride to Portsmouth, ship rigged and ready to take him to Ouistreham, horses and a pack animal waiting near Caen for the long ride across Normandie and Bretagne to his coastal home. It was a tedious journey, but All Hallows’ Eve in Carnac could not be missed, especially for the patriarch of the local ruling family.
Believing the crowning of a new king might bring opportunity, he’d made the long journey to Henry’s court. However, it seemed the cleric-turned-monarch intended to sweep clean like a new broom. Malraux had little to show for his sojourn in England except some deliciously wicked sexual encounters, and a bevy of new “friends” to blackmail, if he were so inclined. Normans looked down their noses at Bretons, though they would never have triumphed at Hastings without the fearsome Breton cavalry. However, in Carnac Malraux was respected and feared by his inferiors. As it should be.
It was taking too long for those infernal dwarfs to reappear. A tingle ran up his spine. There might be amusement with those two in Carnac.
No one knew why the ancients had erected hundreds of standing stones in his village. Some were big, others small, but only Le Manio towered over twenty feet high. Malraux’s ancestors had refined a way to use the giant phallic symbol for the amusement of the general populace. A yearly dose of terror kept peasants in line.
A maiden was selected each year to be thrown from the top of Le Manio into the arms of eager men gathered below. A few did not survive the fall, though most were happy to show their gratitude to the men who saved them. Perhaps this year they might toss the female dwarf and see if her bowlegged beau could catch her.
He closed his eyes, his shaft hardening as an image of the tiny woman clinging desperately to the giant phallic monument settled in his mind. He snapped his eyes open, his attention caught by the rustle of skirts and disgruntled male voices. A scowling woman bustled out of the royal pavilion. It seemed her petition had not been granted.
Something struck a chord of memory. He narrowed his eyes. It was Letyce what’s-her-name. His arousal turned to granite as he recalled a night of erotic passion. She was a woman who knew how to enjoy herself. He had looked forward to many nights of pleasure, but then she had disappeared from Henry’s court. What was she doing here, pouting might
ily?
He stroked his pointed beard, shifting his weight to ease the stiffness at his groin. Letyce would find Henry’s Hallowmas celebrations tame and might be persuaded to accompany him to Bretagne.
* * *
Some of Letyce’s anger dissolved when she cast eyes on Malraux. She had spent only one night with him, but he had proven to be an excellent lover who understood her need to give, and receive pain—just the right amount to make the joining memorable.
Her heart skipped a beat as he strode towards them. Perhaps these festivities might prove to be worthwhile after all. She stopped so abruptly, Winrod walked into her. “Dolt! Careful.”
She turned to her father. “Papa, take my dear brothers to the groaning board over there and keep an eye on them.” She tweaked Dareau’s cheek. “They tend to be gluttons. We would not want them disgracing our family name.”
As usual, the gullible fool took her words at face value. Thanks be to the saints she had not taken after her father, though she was not like her mother, either. Impossible to conjure a picture of her Maman with the likes of Malraux de Carnac. She suppressed a snort of amusement.
The Breton swept his hat from his head and showed an elegant leg, bowing ridiculously low. His hair had thinned on top, but he was still attractive in a devilish sort of way. The glint in his eye told her he remembered their night together.
“Demoiselle Letyce,” he oozed. “Enchanté. I have missed you. Where did you disappear to?”
His eyes narrowed as he watched her father and brothers’ progress towards the trestle tables. “Your family?”
She rolled her eyes. “Indeed.”
He proffered his arm. “Delightful as it is to spend time with siblings and parents, I believe I am a much more suitable escort for you, ma chère.”
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